by Jen McConnel
My heart sped up and I nodded uncertainly, looking around the cramped apartment. “Who plays?” I gestured to the three guitar cases lining one wall.
“We both do.” Carson shrugged. “We’re in a band together.”
I laughed nervously. “Art and music? How’d you get to be so perfect?”
“I’m not perfect,” he whispered suggestively, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us crackled with electricity.
I tried to keep my tone light, but my heart was pounding in my chest. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
He cleared his throat, but didn’t answer my implied question. “So, do you want to get started?”
I tugged on the hem of my t-shirt. “I guess. If you’re in a hurry.”
Carson took a step closer to me. “Sarah, I want to take my time with you.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close.
I looked up at him and licked my lips nervously. “What should we do first?”
“First,” he said, lowering his face until he was almost kissing me, “we need to help you relax.”
I ached to kiss him, but I stayed still. “How do we do that?”
“I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve.” He lowered his lips to mine, and I melted into him.
My hands crept down his back and latched onto his belt loops, and he made an approving sound as he kissed me again. His hands slid under my T-shirt, and I shivered at the sensation of his fingertips against my flesh. He pressed me closer to him and nipped my lower lip, his hands tracing shapes along my back.
I felt his tongue flick between my teeth, but instead of being disgusted, I was turned on. I tried to return the gesture, and Carson chuckled against my lips. “There’s fire in you, Red. Let me see it.”
He reached for the hem of my shirt, and I hesitated. Carson noticed, and he trailed his lips down my jaw to my neck, kissing my collarbone with delicate precision. My skin was on fire, and it was getting harder and harder to keep a straight thought in my mind. When he pressed his lips to the hollow of my collarbone, I arched my back in response. This time, I didn’t try to stop him as he slipped my T-shirt up and over my head.
Carson put his arms on my hips and pushed me gently away from him, his eyes traveling over my torso. I looked down, suddenly self-conscious, but then Carson pressed his lips to my belly, and I melted into the sensation of his touch. On impulse, I reached for his head, tangling my fingers in his short dark hair as he covered my torso with kisses. Expertly, he unclasped my bra with one hand and slid it down my arms. My skin prickled as the air hit my breasts, and for a moment, I panicked. What was I doing? Was I really about to go from my first kiss to my first time in the span of a few hours?
I looked at Carson, but before I could speak, he lifted his head and kissed me again, deeply. “Now,” he said, his voice husky, “you’re ready to be my muse.”
~
He didn’t sketch me completely nude; I kept my light-pink underwear on, but that was it. If Carson sketching me at the Tower of London had been an intense experience, him sketching me almost naked in his apartment was mind-blowing. The windows were cracked open, and the long, dingy curtains rippled in the breeze. Even though it was warm outside, the air on my bare skin made me shiver, but I did my best to hold still. It was easier not to look at Carson, and he hadn’t told me where to look, so I let my eyes wander around his cramped apartment as he worked. I focused on the guitars hanging on the wall and counted the strings three times, and then my eyes started tracing the spider cracks in the ceiling, but my pulse was racing. I was hyperaware of Carson sitting across the room from me. We didn’t talk, but the scratch of his pencil filled the space, and I felt a faint flush creeping down my body. It felt like a lifetime and an instant at the same time, so I’m not actually sure how long he drew me. When he was done, I wondered if we’d pick up our make-out session where we’d left off, but he just handed me my bra and shirt and smiled.
“Get dressed. I want to take you to dinner.”
I grinned at him, but I was a little disappointed. Carson was quiet as we walked through the streets, and his silence gave me ample opportunity to stew. By the time we stopped outside a green-painted pub, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Look,” I began before we went inside. “Maybe we shouldn’t do dinner tonight.”
“Why not?” His eyes focused on me, and he looked genuinely puzzled.
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to bother you or anything.”
Carson dipped his head down and kissed me, gently. “You aren’t a bother, Sarah.”
I cleared my throat. “You seem distracted since . . . earlier.”
He smiled at me. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you were. You are beautiful, Sarah. Every inch of you.”
I flushed, remembering how much of me he’d seen. “And you’re sure everything’s okay?”
He nodded, holding the door for me. “Everything’s fine.”
I felt a little better, but dinner was still mostly silent, and by the time the bill came, I was feeling awkward again. Carson reached for it, but I put my hand out.
“Let me. You bought breakfast.”
He hesitated, but then he handed me the bill. I pulled out the thick envelope of cash from my purse and counted out a few bills, and Carson whistled.
“Dang, girl, you shouldn’t keep all your money in one place like that!”
I laughed nervously. “I know, right? But this isn’t all of it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You made good money babysitting those kids.”
I hesitated. “The rest of it’s safe.”
“Did you put it in the bank?”
I shook my head. Finally, I said with a laugh, “Safer than that. Think old ladies and mattresses, or socks buried in bags.”
Carson chuckled. “Makes sense to me. That way, you’re never far from your cash. Still, if anyone mugged you, they’d get a lot just from your purse.”
“I try to keep an eye on it, and,” I held up the strap to show him, “it’s long enough to go across my body. I figure that’s pretty safe.”
Carson chuckled. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“Not everything,” I said, my eyes studying him. “I had no idea I’d meet someone like you.”
He leaned across the table and grasped my hands. “I feel the same way.”
We held onto each other across the sticky, slanted table, and all my earlier fears melted away.
Carson squeezed my hands. “Sarah, would you do something for me?”
I nodded, spellbound by his intense blue eyes. “If I can.”
“Let me take you to Amsterdam.”
“What? Why?”
He grinned. “For your birthday. It’s in a few days, right?”
I nodded, surprised that he’d remembered. “But why Amsterdam?”
“It’s an easy city break from London, and I think you’d love it. Come away with me, Sarah.”
I hesitated, and Carson leaned closer.
“The city is magical,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my cheek. “It’s the perfect place for new beginnings and,” he hummed, “there’s no better city to fall in love.”
My heart sped up and I gripped his hands tighter. “And you want to take me?”
“There’s no one I’d rather visit Amsterdam with.”
His blue eyes locked on mine, and I managed to croak, “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Let’s have a getaway.”
I’d never even considered going to Amsterdam, but since I’d met Carson, I’d done a lot of things I’d never considered before. Maybe this was just the way to celebrate the new, adventurous Sarah. Slowly, I nodded. “Okay. Okay, take me to Amsterdam!”
Chapter Thirteen
By the time I got back to the hostel, the sun had been down for an hour and the night was surprisingly chilly for late June. I hurried through the bar and up the stairs, shivering. I had a sweatshirt tucked into my bag that I
hadn’t needed until now, but I figured I’d want to bundle up before I went to sleep.
Joelle was propped up in her bunk, reading a book. Otherwise, the dormitory was deserted.
“Did they go out again?”
She dog-eared a page and set the book down. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t want to?”
Joelle shrugged. “I like partying, but I don’t need to do it every night. Besides,” she laughed ruefully, “I drank a little too much last night, so I needed a break.”
“I’ve got aspirin, if you need it.”
“I know. I left my bottle on your bed.”
I grinned at her. “Thanks, by the way.”
She waved her hand. “No problem. So where have you been all day?”
Eagerly, I told her about Carson surprising me with breakfast, and about the Tower. I didn’t mention him drawing me, but I did tell her about the plans Carson and I had just made for my birthday.
Joelle frowned. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go off with him?”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t it kind of dangerous to travel to a foreign country with a stranger?”
I laughed. “We’re already in a foreign country.”
She nodded. “I know, but doesn’t this feel a little weird?”
I bristled. “Why would it be weird? He wants to give me a birthday to remember. What’s wrong with that?”
“Look, nothing, Sarah, but . . . I mean, how well do you know this guy?”
I glared at her. “Are you saying I shouldn’t trust him?”
I expected her to deny it, but Joelle paused. “He sort of gave me a creepy feeling last night at the club.”
“He’s wonderful! You’re just jealous that I’ve found somebody here in London.” I blurted.
Joelle smiled sadly. “Not at all. He’s really not my type.”
“Then why do you even care what I do? It’s not like we’re friends, either!”
She looked stung, but she recovered quickly. “Still, I think it’s a bad idea to go off with this guy on your own. Will you call me if you need me?”
I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
“Can I see your phone?”
After a moment, I handed it to her, and she typed quickly.
“There. You’ve got my number, and my e-mail address. If anything happens in Amsterdam, will you please call me?”
“Fine,” I snapped, “but the only thing that’s going to happen is I’m going to have the best birthday ever.”
Joelle picked up her book. “I really hope so.”
~
When I woke up the next morning, I impulsively reached for my phone. Stepping into the hallway so I didn’t wake the others, I dialed my mom’s number. I hadn’t had any contact with her since I left for England three months ago, but now for whatever reason, I was desperate to hear her voice. The phone rang and rang until the call finally went to voice mail, and I hung up with a sigh.
A wave of homesickness swept over me, and I started to wonder if it was time to cash in my airline gift certificate and go home. I chewed on my lip, considering. True, I’d been having fun in London, but what did I really have to stay for, anyway?
Carson’s dark hair and bright eyes swam into my mind, and I smiled. No, I wasn’t ready to go home just yet. First, I had to celebrate my birthday.
~
Carson wasn’t waiting outside the hostel that morning, and my heart fell before I reminded myself that he hadn’t exactly said he would be. I glanced up at the sky, which was overcast again. Maybe he was working. I strolled along the river, trying to enjoy the morning, but the longer I was outside, the stickier and humid the day started to feel, so I finally ducked into the cool tunnel of the Underground.
I took the train to Piccadilly Circus, but once I was there, I hesitated. I didn’t want to pester Carson or anything. Glancing at the bookstore, I shook my head. I decided I’d explore a little bit on my own before I checked the store for him; if he was working, he wouldn’t even miss me.
Realizing that I’d left my guidebook back at the hostel, I bought a map from a street vendor, and sat down on the curb. There was an overwhelming amount of stuff that I hadn’t seen in London, and I wondered how I would possibly cram it all in. I could spend the rest of my life there and probably not see everything! Feeling dejected, I skimmed the map.
A cheerful car horn sounded close by, and I looked up, surprised. One of the big double-decker buses that filled the city pulled up to the curb near where I was sitting, and I read the sign stretched along the top deck: hop on hop off tours. Standing up, I grinned. That might be a good way for me to see as much of London as possible before Carson and I left for our weekend away.
I approached the bus, and a man in a black hat that reminded me of chauffeur’s in old movies hopped down from the step. “Want to ride?” His accent was thick, and different from Carson’s, and I felt a little uncomfortable at the way his eyes traveled up and down my frame.
Pushing my self-consciousness aside, I smiled. “How much?”
“Twenty pounds gets you a two day pass. You can hop on and off as much as you like.”
That sounded expensive, but I shrugged. “Okay.” I handed him the money, and he handed me a thick plastic map and a slip of paper that looked like a credit card receipt.
“Keep that ticket at all times. The map shows the route the bus takes; we’re the red. That ticket will get you on the yellow and blue routes, too.”
I thanked him and climbed onto the bus. A spiral staircase was planted right behind the driver, and after a moment’s hesitation, I headed up to the top deck. There weren’t a lot of people on the bus, and I had a pair of seats to myself near the back.
It was a strange sensation to race along above traffic like that. At first, my head spun a little and I was afraid I might fall out, but then I started to get used to being up so high, and I watched the city fly by. Buildings that looked like something out of a Victorian novel flashed past, alongside sleek department stores, modern row houses, and tall brick buildings. London was an amazing mishmash of architecture, and I stared eagerly at everything we drove by.
The bus stopped several times, and people got on and off, but I was content to just ride around for a while. Maybe I’d come back later and get off at Buckingham Palace or something. We raced through traffic, and it felt really strange to be on the wrong side of the road. I kept waiting for us to crash, but nothing happened. Eventually, the bus passed under Big Ben, and I smiled up at the clock tower, remembering my initial exploration; it was hard to believe that was only a few days ago. We whizzed past Westminster, and then looped around a warren of streets.
An hour after I’d boarded the bus, we were back in Piccadilly Circus, and I finally climbed down from my perch. The ticket man waved as I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and I waved back. He winked at me as the bus moved out of sight, and I just laughed.
I was still smiling as I opened the door to the bookstore. Feeling surprisingly bold, I walked up to the counter and smiled at the man with the receding hairline standing there. “Can you tell me if Carson’s working today?”
The man grumbled. “Sure is. He’s supposed to be working all weekend, but he came in today with some story about a sick aunt he has to go and visit. Said he’d be gone at least three days, and now I’m stuck covering his shifts. Little twerp.”
I paused, my heart sinking. “Oh. Where is he right now?”
The man jerked his thumb toward the back of the store. “He’s shelving, I think.”
I wandered through the bookshelves with a heavy heart. If Carson had a family emergency, we probably wouldn’t be able to go to Amsterdam after all. I prowled around for a while, looking for his familiar lanky frame, and I was just about to give up when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Can I help you, miss?” Carson’s eyes sparkled, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“Hi.”<
br />
“Hi, yourself.”
I waited for him to kiss me or hug me, but he just stood where he was. I cleared my throat. “I’m, um, sorry about your aunt. Is it serious?”
Carson’s eyes danced with laughter, and he bit his lip. “We can talk about that later. Meet me after work?”
“Sure,” I said, feeling the energy deflate from me. Why was he being so standoffish? Had I done something wrong? “What time?”
“I’m done at seven. Why don’t I swing by your hostel after that?”
“Okay.” I swallowed and tried to smile. “Sounds good.”
“Sarah,” Carson leaned forward, his eyes darting around the store nervously. “Trust me.”
Chapter Fourteen
My good mood was totally gone by the time I left the bookstore. Why had he been so strange? I trudged along, cranky and hot, and I suddenly wished I’d put on a dress instead of jeans. Not that I’d thought to bring a dress with me, but still, it would have been nice to be a little cooler.
I’d always hated shopping, but Mom swore that retail therapy was the best way to forget your troubles. I stepped into the first department store I saw, too annoyed and hot to worry about how I would look in the fitting-room mirrors.
Even though it was summer, the clothing racks around me were filled with dark colors and thick fabrics. I wound my way through the store, finally stopping at a clearance rack in the corner. There were a few dresses and some tank tops hanging there, along with about five million pairs of the same ugly pink-and-black leggings. I thumbed through the rack aimlessly, but the sizes were all unfamiliar.
“Did you need something?” A woman dressed in a sleek pencil skirt and pink blouse paused beside me.
My standard reply slipped out before I could think. “No, thanks, I’m just looking.”
She nodded. “There are more sundresses in the back. Would you like to see them?”
I shrugged. “Um, actually, I don’t even know what size I wear.”
“What’s your American size?”
I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “Twelve.”
She looked at me as if she were taking visual measurements, and I braced myself for her to say something about how big I was, but she surprised me. “We have lots of things that will fit you, I think, but I don’t know about the sales. You’re pretty much our average selling size, so you might not have any luck on the clearance rack.”
